


About Tommy Shelby

by bubblewhale2



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Other, Peaky Blinders - Freeform, visuals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewhale2/pseuds/bubblewhale2
Summary: A character study of Tommy Shelby. A drabble.





	About Tommy Shelby

I swear, Tommy, sometimes it's only a whip missing from your hand to make you complete the look of a fucking gipsy horse tamer. I'm positive I can hear it crackling as you hit the floor with it, that's how snappy's your posture. That black, hard-cut coat, sharp lines of your shoulders, the almost-tame glisten of a fob-watch. Pricey brown leather straps that hold your guns paired with fancy shirts and soft lips. Your crooked white palms that you hide in your pockets. As if you're afraid of what you might do with them.  
I reckon when you got into that mansion you were so overwhelmed you wanted to smash things. A Shelby trait.  
You fear the betrayal of palms that shake uncontrollably so you hide 'em in your pockets instead.

You almost never leave your hat hanging out of your pocket anymore, Tommy. Like you used to.  
Can you still hear the picking from the other side of the wall?  
Often, you can't keep a cocky smile from spilling all over your face. It's one third irony, one third spite, and one third self-loathing, that smile of yours, just like the Shelby Company itself. Or has the self-loathing stopped? Are you and the brothers happy with whom you are now?

You know, sometimes that stinking smoke follows after you. After your cold rigid back clad in that black coat. Like a ghost, it follows you.  
I know you don't use opium anymore. But I often find that your stupid cigarettes give you the same mystic allure nowadays. Tommy, I swear, the smoke sometimes turns into a white horse, and as it gets mixed with the whiskey, Irish, the horse turns into your gipsy mother. Or maybe some other gipsy woman. A witch that cursed you. Or any other woman that cursed you. Any woman, really.  
And as you breathe, the enchanted lucky horse's big blue eyes turn into your big blue eyes. There is a saying that the devil rides on a blue-eyed horse. So you throw bit of paprika-powder for good luck. You used to talk to horses Tommy. Now only red blood drops slide down your nostrils, like they've put you down, too.  
How come you still mess with that cunt, that iron cane?  
Your right hand turns red when you touch under your nose and your right temple. You are the bringer of death, Tommy, and you ride on a ghost-horse. Your skull is almost bursting out of your head under that razor cap length hair cut. You’re a skeleton in a cape riding, and when you point at someone with a bloody finger, they take a bullet to their forehead.

You have only one mark on your body that's not from some kind of a war. On the back of your head, Tommy. That's where a lucky star fell the night you were born. Right on your fucking head.

**Author's Note:**

> BBC's Peaky Blinders series has such powerful visuals that i wanted to write a short poem, or anything, as an outlet for all the images that pop out in my head when thinking of characters. Visual characteristics are a great tool when building a character, so some of them for me - for Tommy are: short hair, a white horse, the devil tarot card, pale skin, blue eyes, falling star, luxurious materials: leather, wool, gold. This drabble is what i came up with. I wrote this mid watching season 2. I'd love comments on it, also this is the first work i'm posting here, and i'm not a native English speaker, so just keep that in mind :) i'm planning to post some Harry Potter fanfiction too, but in Croatian, and maybe translating it later.


End file.
